British cinema has spent its whole history being pulled between two capitals. When American money is in the room it makes epics and franchises and does them better than anyone; when it is not, it makes small, class-obsessed, extremely local films about people in rented rooms. Powell and Pressburger, the Ealing comedies, the kitchen sink, Bond, Loach, Leigh and the Harry Potter soundstage are all the same industry, arguing with itself.